Forty Days and Forty Nights
by Elenwen
Summary: Lord Elrond, along with Elladan and Elrohir, must depart Imladris to meet with King Thranduil, thus leaving a six-year-old Estel in the care of Glorfindel and Erestor - and their task is not half as simple as it may sound...
1. The Assignment

**Forty Days and Forty Nights**

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, nor the original concept of them and the places they inhabit. All that is mine are the words inbetween.

Rating: PG

A/N: This is a slight AU, as Gilraen is ignored/does not exist. Her presence would have been too cumbersome. (That, and I prefer my Estel completely parentless, at least in the biological sense. ;) Will be a fairly short (four to five chapters, I reckon), with light angst and (hopefully) much fun.

  


* * *

  
"My Lord..." Erestor hissed, attempting to hide the dread that shone in his eyes with a deep scowl of disapproval, "with all due respect, I do not believe this to be the wisest course of action!"

"Indeed," Glorfindel nodded firmly in agreement. "My Lord, why not assign this task to Elladan and Elrohir? Surely they, with their youthful penchant for battle, would be better suited for this job than Erestor and I?"

The Master of Imladris frowned at the two Elves in which he often placed his highest confidence, puzzled by their reluctance to oversee the important matter he had just entrusted them with. In the past, they had always been eager - overly so at times - to help carry the pressing responsibilities that came with ruling a haven, when he would allow them to do so. Now, for the first time, and when he had to depart his beloved Rivendell so shortly, did they protest an assignment that he had bestowed upon them.

"Were it but possible..." he spoke at length, his words slowed by wariness of his two advisors' unease, "...I might reconsider my decision. But Elladan and Elrohir cannot fulfill this task any more than I, as they shall be accompanying me on my journey. What new cowardice is this?" he implored, and Erestor and Glorfindel averted their eyes in shame. "Could it be that two of the finest, wisest and most honorable Elven minds of this Age and many others actually _fear_ a six-year-old child?"

"Not fear, my Lord," Glorfindel interjected quietly, "but...distrust."

"He is scarcely more than a babe," Elrond argued. "What more innocence than that do you desire?"

"We would desire that he were aged six _decades_, rather that six _years_. My Lord, you do not understand - he is...different...in your absence," Erestor said pleadingly, looking as though he had need to repress a shudder. The frown that had yet to leave Lord Elrond's brow deepened at Erestor's words.

"Of what do you speak?" he demanded, pausing in readying his horse and giving the other two Elves his complete attention. Both were nearly cringing, wishing to bite their tongues but knowing that they could not deny their Lord the answers he required.

"Estel is..." Glorfindel began hesitantly, then finally settled on "...a very intelligent boy."

"Yes," Erestor nodded emphatically. "He is...most clever."

"And cunning," Glorfindel added.

"Quite...crafty."

"Devious, even."

"Like a short troll."

Lord Elrond held up a silencing hand. "Enough. Such exaggerations are not becoming of either of you. And besides, you are hardly alone in your duties. All of Imladris will be keeping watch of young Estel alongside you. He is a good child; I am certain he will be no trouble." There was a tone of finality in his voice that forbade further discussion of the matter. The Lord of Rivendell finished saddling his horse and started back for his house, his right- and left-hand Elves trailing with an air of defeat in his wake.

It was in the main hall of the Last Homely House that the three met up with the twins Elladan and Elrohir, who were trotting with matching steps down the west-facing staircase, their packs slung over their shoulders.

"Father," Elladan greeted, "we are ready."

Elrond nodded to his eldest son. "I will meet you in front of the stables shortly--" Grey eyes flicked past the brethran and toward the far ceiling, where the staircase disappeared into the floor above; "--for I must first bid farewell to our resident shadow." 

Sure enough, a youthful human face peered round the banister at his words. Estel grinned widely, his cheeks plumping like a chipmunk's, with a gap in his little front teeth (the recent result of his first lost tooth). Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged dubious glances - one less tooth was one less mark in their skins. Indeed they would have preferred it if humans lost all of their baby teeth at once, rather than one at a time.

Why o why did King Thranduil have to have such atrocious timing? Though it was no fault of his own that the wargs of Mirkwood were becoming a tad more...rambunctious than usual, the two Rivendell Elves supposed. 

Thranduil sought Elrond's counsel in regard to what portent of doom the beasts' heightened unruliness could possibly mean. He did not wish to leave his kingdom unattended for too long a time in light of the new - if not yet altogether grievous - threat, and Lord Elrond could not forgo attendance of Imladris' own spring festival, which was to be held in just over one month. Thus, the two Elf-lords had agreed to meet halfway between their respective realms, near the eastern shore of the River Anduin. Barring complications, the Master of Imladris and his sons were scheduled to return barely a day before the festival was to begin. The party would be both a warm welcome home for the travelling company, as well as a celebration of the season of life.

It also needed to be organised - the banners hung, the food decided upon and prepared, the few guests' quarters made ready, the halls and city aptly decorated. Of course, the majority of these things had already been planned; it was their implementation that was placed in danger. Without the authority of his foster father and the play of his foster brothers to distract him, Isildur's heir often searched to entertain himself in ways that could be described as...destructive. However much respect had been earned by Glorfindel and Erestor from Elves, Men and other creatures, Estel cared not for it. The young Edain heeded only the command of his _ada_ and brothers, and the only hope anyone else had of controlling the future king was to put themselves in his good graces - something much easier said than done.

Hence it was with mutual winces that the two Imladris counsellors looked on as Estel ran down the stairs and embraced their kneeling Lord tightly. Elladan and Elrohir smiled, each clapping one of the advisors on the shoulder in a shared attempt to jar the disgruntled-looking Elves out of their woebegone expressions before making their way toward the stables. Ai, what oblivious fools even the wise could at times be...

Elrond pulled back, and looked seriously at the beaming six-year-old. "Pray you will behave for Glorfindel and Erestor?" he asked the child, who nodded proudly and straightened up a bit.

"I will, _Ada_," he promised. Elrond glanced up at his two chief adivsors and arched an eyebrow as if to say "See?" Glorfindel ground his teeth together. Erestor's fingers slowly curled and uncurled, as though he were attempting to restrain his hands from forming fists.

Lord Elrond turned back to Estel and smiled, ruffling the boy's hair. "Excellent. Elladan, Elrohir and I shall return in time for the spring festival. Do not fret; the weeks will pass quickly."

"Were that but true," Erestor mumbled beneath his breath, and concealed a grunt with a small cough when Glorfindel nudged him sharply in the ribs. Lord Elrond shot the brown-haired Elf an admonishing look, and stood.

"I will escort you to the stables, _Ada_," Estel declared, reaching up to clutch one of the Lord of Imladris' large hands with his own small fingers.

Elrond chuckled. "You do me a great honour, Estel," he humoured the child, then gave a slight nod to Erestor and Glorfindel, silently letting them know that they were to follow and watch that the young Edain did not get any ideas from being left alone with the horses after the three Peredhils were out of sight. Though he did not believe Estel capable of the sort of wickedness Erestor and Glorfindel suspected lay within the human youth, he was not wholly unaware of the mischief the boy could get himself into if left unsupervised.

"Such abuse," Erestor grumbled once Elrond and the twins had ridden well beyond the reaches of even the keen sight of the Elves. He patted at his robes, brushing them free of whatever invisible dirt he thought remained from Glorfindel's nudge and Elrohir's clap. "O how I do hope their return is swift," he sighed. "Forty days and forty nights...that is not so long, is it, Glorfindel? Not for the Elves."

His question was met with no reply.

"Glorfindel?" he enquired again, finally tearing himself away from inspecting his immaculate grey robes to look quizzically at his friend. The golden-haired Elf was staring straight ahead, his eyes unblinking and his face pale as bone. Erestor followed his gaze, thinking mayhap some great danger had suddenly unveiled itself from the wood in the distance. Finding nothing of alarm, Erestor blinked in confusion. "Glorfindel, what fear grips thee so?" he demanded, and was at last rewarded with a response.

Glorfindel's eyes slowly rolled to look upon Erestor, and then down between them. Realisation dawned in Erestor's mind - he had been so caught up in the state of his robes that he had momentarily forgotten the small presence that stood between himself and his tow-headed friend. Swallowing with some difficulty, he looked down at Estel.

The young king stared back up at him, his countenance cloaked in innocence and his eyes flashing devilry.

Glorfindel's blood felt cold as ice within his veins as a strange sensation took hold of his chest, causing his heart to quicken. He knew the feeling well, and knew that it presented itself under a solitary circumstance. He averted his eyes to meet Erestor's, their shared wisdom exchanging an acknowledgement far faster than any words would ever be capable of:

War was now upon them.

"Valar have mercy..." he murmured, and Erestor finished for him, "...on all the souls of Imladris."

"Our own above all..."

"For we shall surely perish..."

"Forty days and forty nights..."

Estel, growing quickly bored of the two Elves' echoing speech patterns, wrenched free of the loose hold they each had on one of his shoulders and broke into a run, his direction random and his giggle high-pitched. Glorfindel and Erestor watched him go, disbelief at their misfortune still written plainly on their faces.

"You realise, of course, that we are doomed," said Erestor.

"O yes," Glorfindel nodded. "Quite doomed. But far be it for me to ever fall without a fight." He looked over at the dark-haired Elf, a wide grin suddenly overcoming his features as he, too, ran off in the same direction as the Edain had mere seconds earlier.

"Warriors," Erestor groused, his eyes rolling skyward. With a heavy sigh, he bent down and scooped up a handful of earth, then smeared it over his front. "By no other hand than my own," he vowed, sullying his arms and the fronts of his legs for good measure before giving chase to Glorfindel and Estel.

  
TBC. 


	2. Week One, Day Two

**Week One, Day Two**  
_Imladris...  
_

_Sauronion..._ Erestor inwardly swore as he hurriedly stalked the corridors of the House of Elrond, peering suspiciously into every public room he passed and receiving many a queer look from the rooms' occupants each time he did so. Luckily, the other Elves had had sense enough not to enquire as to why their Lord's chief advisor felt the need to scowl through all the doorways in Imladris, for Erestor was in no mood to offer an explanation for his actions. _Hína rúcima...insolent, disrespectful, **irresponsible youth**!_

He reached Lord Elrond's private study, where he knew Glorfindel would be, and paused outside to compose himself. _If that...that **Orkling** is not with him..._ he mentally trailed off, closing his eyes tightly as he willed the vein throbbing in his left temple to still. Drawing a deep breath, he raised his hand and rapped firmly on the door.

"Come in, Erestor," a half-amused voice resonated into the hall, and Erestor entered the study with a frown.

"How did you know that it was I?" he charily asked, and Glorfindel smirked in a self-satisfied manner.

"How could I not?" the golden-haired Elf answered. "I know of no other who can impart such great exasperation into a mere knock on the door."

Erestor's glower did not waver as his eyes moved about the room, and it was then that Glorfindel recalled that the dark-haired Elf was meant to be in the library, along with a dark-haired human who was nowhere to be seen. Dread began to creep upon him, causing the fine hairs at the nape of his neck to stand on end as he posed the dire question: "...where is Estel?"

Erestor averted his eyes, suddenly extremely interested in a tidy stack of scrolls that rested near the far wall. "I had hoped," he began with some reluctance and much aggravation, "that he was with you."

Glorfindel stood abruptly, alarm etched into his features. "It has not yet been a week and already you have lost him?" he demanded, staring at the other Elf incredulously.

"I have done no such thing!" Erestor protested. "He has deliberately misplaced himself!"

"How? What in Arda possessed you to allow him out of your sight for even a second's time?!"

"It was not my fault! The little fiend lulled me into a false sense of security. He was doing all that I asked of him with nary a breath of resistance; he approached his lessons with patience and diligence - how was I to know that when I requested he retrieve a book from the stacks that it was the last I was to see of him?"

Glorfindel snorted in disdain. "That he was minding you at all should have been your first clue! I thought such foolishness to be completely beyond your character!" Erestor narrowed his eyes, focusing upon the lighter Elf a piercing glare he usually reserved for debating with the likes of perfervid Dwarves. Glorfindel did not allow whatever acid words were lingering on the other advisor's tongue to leave his mouth - Erestor could defend his honour later; for now, locating Estel was of greater import. "For how long has he been missing?"

"No longer than an hour. I have searched nearly every room in this house - he is not here."

"_Nearly_ every room," Glorfindel reinforced, the stoic control of many years spent at war the only thing keeping him from outwardly displaying the well-nigh panic that was beginning to echo off of the inside of his skull. O dear Elbereth, if anything happened to that boy, the countless centuries of friendship he, Erestor and Elrond had shared would cease to matter - the Lord of Imladris would surely have their hides. No - more than that - he would have their hides, stretch them, dry them, and use them for the very parchment on which he would write of their untimely demise, and the neglectful circumstances surrounding it, for the Half-elf did love the young human as he loved his own children, and so great a blunder could never be forgiven...

Glorfindel swallowed hard. "Check all of the rooms. _All_ of them. I will search the banks of the Bruinen - you know how he adores the river."

Erestor nodded and spun on his heel to resume his hunt, but paused in the door's threshold and turned around. "What of the stables? And the wood? And the falls? Glorfindel, this is folly! We shall never be able to locate the child on our own. A formal search party must be organised--"

"Nay!" the pale-haired Elf quickly interrupted, shaking his head. The last thing he wished to do was spread word so early on in Elrond's absence of his incompetence in looking after a mere boy, even though it had been Erestor who had mislaid the youth - this time. "You swore it yourself - he has been gone but an hour. Such a short length of time hardly constitutes sending all of Imladris into a needless fright. We are two grown Elves, Erestor, who have fared horrific battles, out-witted the most stubborn of Dwarves, and slain countless cunning wargs, Orcs and other hideous creatures; what chance has a six-year-old Man-child of escaping our keen intuition, intellect and tracking skills? He has been gone but an hour; he will be caught within a moment. I have no doubt of it."

***+*+***

From his perch among the branches of the tree that stood just beyond the window of Lord Elrond's study, large grey eyes watched the two counsellors exchange urgent words and expressions of concern. The owner of the puckish gaze did not require the sharp ears of the Elves to know that it was he, Estel, of whom they spoke, and his advantage over them did please him greatly. He had considered hiding first and not attending his lessons at all today, but this was much better, for this put Erestor in the wrong, and Estel was feeling none too generous in relation to the dark-haired Elf.

Estel found Erestor to be too...stuffy...for his liking. Far too haughty. Elrond had said it himself, "Erestor is a prideful one;" and Elrond always spoke true. Hence, young Estel reasoned, he was merely doing his part to bruise a great ego and make Rivendell an even more wonderful place than it already was - for with the absence of Erestor's ego, Estel mused that his home and haven might become a good deal more child-friendly. Perhaps he would never again be required to take lessons - at least, lessons of the bookish sort; he would certainly continue with his practice sword and bow, and whatever else actually interested him. No more sniffy, arrogant Erestor lording over him in the library as if it were a kingdom and he naught more than a peasant to throw stale lettuce at. Estel was not quite sure where he ranked among the nobility of the household, being not truly of Lord Elrond's blood, but the Lord of Rivendell seemed to treat him no differently than his other sons, and they were nearly considered princes.

Yes, he decided, that was what he was: A prince. Prince of Imladris. It was the only logical conclusion. Mayhap he had not yet been told of his undeniably royal status because it was feared that he would mature too quickly if he knew the true weight that rested upon his shoulders, and _Ada_ did often lament how big he was growing to be. For now, he would remain small and unassuming, at least for the sake of his foster father.

But Elrond was not here right now, and Estel was not about to feign ignorance of his obvious position of authority for the likes of Glorfindel and Erestor. He was his own master now. Indeed, as prince, and with Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir away, sure _he_ was the true Lord of Imladris in their absence. The two advisors should have been counselling him in affairs of state, not boring him with tedious lessons of past events that mattered not to his young life.

Estel held his breath as Erestor, after one false start, finally left the study, Glorfindel close behind him. Then, with a grace he was certain would be worthy of a fully Elven child, the Edain slowly crept along the fork of wood he had been standing on, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. The branch bowed under his weight as he moved further toward its leaf-tipped end, and he spread his arms for better balance. Only a couple more steps...

_There!_ he triumphantly thought to himself as he leapt from the branch to the protrusions of the windowsill with a slight rustle, small hands and bare toes gripping the frame tightly. O yes - his was without a doubt the grace of a prince, or perhaps even a king! The King of Imladris, the noblest leader of all the Ages, and all who opposed him would fall to their knees at the mere sight of him and beg his forgiveness for whatever wrongs they had committed against his rule. He could practically feel it coursing through his veins, this sense of royal righteousness.

Swollen-headed from his success in crossing the tree branch, Estel felt with small fingers along the edge of the window's frame, prodding at it in different places, searching for its weakest point - no simple task when one is dealing with Elvish craftsmanship. Impatience quickly got the better of him, and with a few swift shoves in the same spot, the window at last unstuck itself and swung open upon its hinges with a sharp crack of splintering wood and a quiet groan. Estel winced at the sound, his eyes darting around to see if anyone had been within range to hear it.

The small courtyard which the study overlooked remained empty and silent but for the sounds of nature.

Confident once more in his skills of invisibility, Estel climbed easily through the window and dropped down to the floor. He was rarely admitted entrance into his foster father's study, and certainly he was never permitted inside without Elrond himself as an escort. He would have to proceed with caution, and touch nothing that he was not positive he could replace in the exact location it had been in.

...well. _Almost_ nothing, and surely the something he was after was replaceable...

***+*+***

Thoronil blinked curiously as his Lord's chief counsellor darted past the trees to his left for the dozenth time. The Imladris guard had ceased his target practice at the fourth sighting of the dark-haired Elf, and lowered his bow and notched arrow at the eighth, unable to find intension of the situation. There was no cause for alarm that he could tell, no wicked creatures that he could sense. Young Estel was nowhere to be seen, and Thoronil seriously doubted the likelihood of Erestor playing such a repetitive sort of game as "tag" with the boy to begin with.

"Ah - Master Erestor?" he queried at the advisor's fourteenth to-and-fro. "Might I enquire as to what you are doing?"

"You might," Erestor snapped in reply, looking everywhere but directly at Thoronil as though he were searching for something quite zealously - though Thoronil could not see how whatever it was Erestor was looking for could have ended up in the clouds.

"What are you doing?" he asked again, by now very used to the darker Elf's temprament, and fell into step beside him.

"Pacing with haste."

"But - do you not usually do your pacing in the Hall of Fire?"

"Usually," Erestor murmured distractedly as they approached the banks of the Bruinen. "Today I felt it necessary to go about my activities outdoors. With the festival fast approaching, I thought it might do well to get me into the spirit of things."

He leaned forward, nearly bent double, and peered into the quickly moving current of the river, his eyes scanning its entire length. With a frustrated sigh, he shook his head and started for the trees that were to the right of where Thoronil had been practicing his archery.

"But sir," the guard pointed out, "if it is your daily activities that you are going about, then I daresay whatever it is you are looking for may not have had your foresight and is still inside."

"O dear Thoronil, I sincerely doubt that. Inside was the first place I looked."

Thoronil frowned. "Then it should also be the last place you look."

Erestor halted suddenly, and Thoronil started, nearly running directly into the other Elf's back. The counsellor tensed for a moment as if expecting the collision, then sighed once more with no small amount of exasperation and turned to face the sentry.

Thoronil was a good Elf, a sweet Elf, and brave as any lord - he was not, however, the sharpest blade in the bunch, so to speak, and did at times require one to make up obscure and occasionally absurd excuses if one wished to rid oneself of his presence. Still, Thoronil was not lacking in simple wisdom, and Erestor was becoming quite desperate. Thus, he folded his hands and adopted his most patient expression. "Explain."

Thoronil flushed slightly and laced his fingers together. "Well...I know that whenever _I_ lose something, I usually find it in the last place I look. Therefore, I try to think of where I would least expect the lost object to be found, and search there first. I still find it in the last place I look - but it is also the first place I look, and it thence does save me much time and trouble."

"..." Erestor opened his mouth to speak, but was at something of a loss for words. He frowned, running through what the younger Elf had said in his mind. "So...you believe that, because I first looked for what I am missing within the house, that it will miraculously be there when I return? That merely because I searched the same place both first and last, the object in question will be waiting for me regardless of where else I look inbetween?"

"I..." Thoronil trailed off, looking befuddled by Erestor's jumbled recitation of his philosophy. "...yes?"

"And how, may I ask, would this object - as it had so cleverly evaded my prying eyes - come to reappear out of thin air in a place that I had already searched and found wanting?" He arched an expectant eyebrow, but did not wait for Thoronil to respond before continuing. "I suppose it might have sprouted legs for the sole purpose of deceiving me? That it simply rose and walked away, awaited my departure, and then replaced itself for the sheer amusement of my mystification as to how it returned?"

"I...ai..." Thoronil cleared his throat, now very pink around the ears and casting a longing glance at his discarded bow. "In my experience, lost things will go to great lengths to evade capture. Especially if they are...er...alive."

Some strange light seemed to flare behind Erestor's dark eyes, like the first swell of a candle's flame after being lit, as he quelled his inclinations of superiority and recalled that that which he was seeking was indeed alive, did indeed have legs and could indeed walk to the borders of Imladris and back to the house again if it so wished to. Which it would, particularly if it had knowledge that both Erestor and Glorfindel were there no longer.

"Thoronil," Erestor addressed the guard, clasping the other Elf's shoulders firmly, "it is mayhap my greatest fortune to have stumbled across your stumbling mind. Thank you."

Thoronil blinked as he watched Erestor begin quickly back in the direction of the Last Homely House. "Ah...you are welcome?" he called, and the dark-haired Elf acknowledged him with a slight wave of his hand. Confused yet with an odd sense of pride, Thoronil merely shrugged and returned once more to his bow and arrows.

***+*+***

"Ilúvatar...let this vision be false...o dear Eru, I beg thee, let this vision be false..." Erestor murmured, staring at what lay before him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "..._Glorfindel_!!"

His shout resonated throughout the halls of the house and beyond, drawing the attention of at least a dozen Elves from their activities and scattering a small flock of birds that had been chirping in a nearby tree to flight.

"Master Erestor?" a female voice sang from the hall. "Be thee well?" An Elf-maid, Ilmalin, floated into the room, concern written on her face as she peered at the advisor.

"_Look_ I well?! _Sound_ I well?! Where is that disobedient, _disrespectful_ little..." he trailed off, hissing a long breath through his teeth.

"Glorfindel?" Ilmalin asked, and jumped back when Erestor rounded on her, his expression caught somewhere between helpless and incensed.

"Estel!" he exclaimed. "See you not what the boy has done?" He gestured frantically toward the wall behind him, and Ilmalin gasped as she first took notice of the cause of his distress. There, smeared on the marble and already half dried was a crude ink painting that was certainly no work of any artist residing in Imladris, covering a good portion of the wall from floor to ceiling. The clever use of chairs had doubtless extended the child's reach.

"O Master Erestor..." the Elf-maid breathed in dismay, stepping forward to more closely inspect the picture. "It truly does you no justice."

Erestor looked aghast. "What leads you to believe that it is I depicted in this...'portrait'?" His eyes flicked back to the childish design, which was in truth naught more than a very large scowling head atop a body composed of sticks. One such stick - the right arm, Erestor guessed it was meant to be - clutched a book, and the mouth of the face was but a circle filled with pointed teeth. The sharply arching, infuriated-looking eyebrows alone led Erestor to think it more likely an image of Lord Elrond, though he dared not speak as much aloud.

"Here," Ilmalin gestured to picture's brow, and then raised her hand to brush her fingertips along Erestor's forehead. "The frown lines are the same. Of course, the mouth is a tad Orc-like, and the frame far too thin, but the likeness is really unmistake--"

"Stop," Erestor interrupted her, holding one finger to her lips as he shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "I pray thee, speak no more. Ever."

Before the Elf-maid had a chance to respond, Glorfindel appeared in the threshold of the library doors, tugging along behind him a short creature whose hands, arms, face and clothes were absolutely covered in black ink. "I found the most fascinating thing lurking near one of the western windows," he announced, glowering down at the struggling Estel, who stilled at the reprimanding look but continued to stare back defiantly. "Though I cannot account for the fouled state of his person."

Erestor narrowed his eyes at the child, his hands balled into fists at his sides, inwardly grateful that he and Estel were seperated by Glorfindel's presence. "I believe," he began silkily, unable to keep a sneer from touching his lips, "that young Master Estel has been making use of his 'free time' to further his studies in fine art." 

The dark-haired Elf stepped to the side, revealing the painting in question with a grand flourish of both arms. Glorfindel's eyes widened, though when his mouth opened, it seemed almost forced, as though he were feigning appall to conceal a smile.

"Estel!" Glorfindel gasped, schooling his expression into one of severe disapproval. "Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?"

The human looked from Glorfindel to Erestor to Ilmalin, upon whose kind face he lingered, before answering with a shrug.

The golden-haired Elf fought the urge to sigh at length, and looked toward the Elf-maid. "Ilmalin, if you would be good enough to escort Estel to his room whilst we discuss his punishment, please?"

"Of course, Master Glorfindel," Ilmalin nodded, and rested a hand on the child's back, leading him out of the library. Estel grinned innocently up at her, and with the clemency of Ilúvatar Himself, she returned his smile as though he had done nothing wrong.

_Females..._ Erestor groused to himself, and turned his attention back to Glorfindel, who was no longer attempting to hide a widening smirk. "And what, may I ask, is so amusing about this situation?"

The Elf-lord laughed merrily, his eyes roving between his friend and the vandalised wall. "Well..." he began, stroking his chin thoughtfully with one hand, "the resemblance really is remarkable. Estel has quite a talent. I do believe he has managed to capture the very essence of sourness that composes your personality. You cannot deny that the boy has a gift, Erestor."

Silence.

"...Erestor?"

"Pardon me if I do not share in your mirth at my humiliation, Glorfindel, but I am unable to find it within myself to be gleeful at the defamation of my own character," the darker Elf said lowly, almost spitefully, and Glorfindel had the grace enough to look genuinely apologetic.

"O, come now, Erestor. The boy is but six years of age."

"Yes," Erestor agreed. "Six years of age and _human_. For his people, such an age is far old enough to know the differences between what is right and what is wrong. So many here fail to remember that and coddle the boy's flaws as though he is an Elfling who has a century to learn the basic values of life, but he _is not_ and he _does not_! You and I are no exception to this forgetfulness, but Glorfindel it _must end now_. The boy can be allowed to carry on this way no longer. He is human and he is vulnerable, and he must be taught that he is not invincible, nor is he above any of the rules that the rest of us are bound to. I have had enough of this folly - the boy _will_ learn."

Reluctant as Glorfindel was to admit it, he knew that Erestor was right - Estel would have to learn at the same pace that Men learn, and no amount of sheltering the child in Imladris would change that fact.

With a heavy sigh, the golden-haired Elf moved to stand next to the other advisor and placed a sympathetic arm around Erestor's shoulders. 

"Then, my friend," he declared, "we will teach him."

* * *

_Sauronion_ - son of Sauron  
_hína rúcima_ - terrible child

To all who reviewed the first chapter: Thank you!! I'm absolutely thrilled to get such a positive response from you all! I hope this chapter did not disappoint. 

Keeping the balance between the Elvish matter-of-fact way I'm trying to tell this story and the humour has it becoming a touch wordy, so it may be longer than I had anticipated. But the more the merrier, I say. :) I've decided to rotate the points of view by which this will run, as Erestor sort of took over this chapter. The next will feature a lot of Glorfindel, and the one after that should catch up with Elrond and the twins, if all goes according to plan. 

Many thanks for reading! 


	3. Week Two, Day Eight

**Week Two; Day Eight**  
_Imladris..._

  
"Estel - hold still - do not - augh! By the Valar...Estel! Do not touch that! Es--o dear." Glorfindel all but wilted into the water of one of Rivendell's large indoor bathing springs as a bottle of bath foam left carelessly uncorked was spilled into the spring's already bubbling depths. That in itself would not have been a problem, had it not been for the natural jets of warm water that continuously stirred the baths and kept them heated. It was not long before the entire spring disappeared beneath a thick cloud of lavender-scented froth, and, sure enough, the child took a deep breath and disappeared with it.

It had been just over one week since the incident regarding Erestor's mutated countenance, and the human child was still stained rather grey with ink, despite his daily baths and Glorfindel's efforts at scrubbing him raw. (Erestor had suggested that they simply skin the boy and cover him with flesh-coloured cloth, but Glorfindel reasoned that, despite it being a good idea, Lord Elrond would likely be able to tell the difference.)

The young Adan's punishment had been sadly lacking for the dark-haired Elf. Estel had been made, of course, to scrub at the picture whilst under strict supervision, but the porous unpolished marble seemed unsalvageable. Once the boy had scoured 'til he could scour no longer, Ilmalin had taken over (as Erestor wished as few new faces as possible to view the "painting"), but even she could not manage to clean the wall completely, and a ghost of the image yet remained against the warm peach-coloured stone.

The weaver Anagwae had immediately been commissioned to create a tapestry slightly larger than the picture's dimensions. A sheet hid the caricature until he was finished.

"O Glorfindel," Erestor's voice drifted melodiously from the entrance to the bathing rooms, sounding abnormally pleasant, probably due to the fact that it was not _he_ who had the responsiblity of keeping Elrond's foster son clean. (Glorfindel had, in fact, volunteered for the job more for the boy's safety than any actual want of it. Though he trusted Erestor with his life, he did not think it wise to trust Erestor with Estel's, especially in a room with so very much water and so very few witnesses.)

"Glorfindel," said Erestor again, padding into the smaller, more private bath which the golden-haired Elf and young human inhabited, peering distractedly down at his fingernails. "Apsaran wishes to know which meat the cooks are to prepare for the main course, deer or - by Elbereth!" he exclaimed upon sight of the mass of bubbles overflowing the pool. Glorfindel himself was nearly neck-deep in the foam. "...I realise Estel is not the tidiest of children, but do you not think this a bit...excessive?"

He inched cautiously around the edge of the spring, scanning its frothy surface warily. "Is he drowned and you merely covering up the fact, or does he yet live?"

"He lives," Glorfindel replied, poorly covering up the regret that tinged his voice. "Though if he goes any longer without breath, he soon will be drowned, lest he truly is a terror of the sea..." He began to feel about the water carefully, wadingly slowly along so as not to nudge too hard the small body hidden somewhere near his feet. He glanced up at Erestor, who had shed his outer robes on the way in and was now clothed much the same as Glorfindel, in naught but a pair of light breeches. "Are you not going to help?"

Erestor only shook his head. "Nay. I have bathed already today."

"Then why are you--"

Before the Elf-lord could finish, the small sea monster burst forth from the surface of the spring with a gleeful shriek, splashing water and bubbles in every direction until both the room and all of its occupants were thoroughly soaked from head to toe.

Wiping a crown of foam from his hair, Erestor sent a wry smirk Glorfindel's way. "_I_ may be laundered more than once a day, but I refuse to submit my robes to such unneeded maltreatment. Silk is such a difficult fabric. Deer or hare?"

The golden-haired Elf sighed. "Hare."

Erestor nodded. "Deer it is."

"Of course." Glorfindel scratched a nonexistent itch on the bridge of his nose, covering up a smile. Either it had become an ongoing game between them, or Erestor simply failed to notice - always the darker Elf asked Glorfindel's preference on some matter of personal taste or another, and always Glorfindel would tell him the opposite of what he truly thought. Erestor would, without fail, purposely contradict him, and in the end the results were always those of Glorfindel's true choices. "And Erestor? Would you be so kind as to inform Lindir that the banners on the North end of the house are to be the blue?"

"Can you not deliver your own messages?" Erestor clicked his tongue in disapproval and heaved a dramatic sigh. "Ai, Glorfindel, whatever would you do without me?"

"Wither frightened in a corner somewhere, I am sure," Glorfindel replied sardonically as he tightly held the slippering, squirming human and hauled him out of the bath. Wrapping a linen towel around the boy's shoulders, he forced back a grin as the darker Elf wandered from the room to redress, and counted to ten before calling once more, "Erestor?"

He could almost hear the other advisor bristle, and seconds later Erestor's head reappeared in the threshold, now robed and toweling his hair dry, face straining to look patient.

"Yes?"

"Here." Glorfindel nudged Estel foward and into Erestor's arms. "I bathed him. He is your responsibility now."

But surprisingly, Erestor did not look as shattered as Glorfindel had expected. In fact, he nearly looked...pleased.

"Yes, of course," said Erestor easily, leading the young Man out of the room. "Come along, Estel," his voice echoed from the main baths. "Tell me, do you greatly enjoy games?"

Glorfindel trusted a band of Orcs to have civilised afternoon tea more than he trusted this. Erestor had to have something up his sleeve to be acting so jovial. Not even Ilmalin, Ilúvatar bless her patient heart, was that happily accepting of the boy. Glorfindel would get to the bottom of this, o yes...it would take careful planning and stealth, and it would need to be properly timed...

Perhaps when his fingers no longer resembled prunes, then.

***+*+***

Likely he appeared odd, a grown Elf-lord hanging precariously by one ankle and one hand hooked around a tree branch, his free hand holding back his hair as he peered upside-down through one of the library windows, wherein Estel was receiving his lessons.

Indeed, Thoronil had done a double-take of the sight that greeted him as he left the house to take his noon-time watch of the gates, and stared queerly for many moments at the carefully-balanced Glorfindel. Was it contagious, he wondered, this madness that seemed to grip the temporary Lords of Rivendell in Elrond's absence? Though at least it seemed a fairly benign, non-violent sort of insanity...

After some time, Glorfindel at last noticed the other Elf's presence, and slowly turned his head, his stoic expression unwavering. Blood had rushed to his face due to his positioning, and his skin was very pink.

Thoronil froze for a moment as he tried to decided which would be the best course of action: one, to enquire of Master Glorfindel's...well-being; or two, to merely smile, nod, and back away in a non-threatening manner.

The tow-headed Elf arched a questioning eyebrow.

Two it was.

Glorfindel watched him go, frowning. _Strange fellow, Thoronil,_ he inwardly mused. _Wherever he keeps his mind, it must be very well hidden, for so often does he seem to lose it..._

Shrugging, he returned his attention to the window. He could not see very clearly the goings-on inside, as many shelves of books blocked his line of sight, but through the glass he could easily distinguish Erestor's voice - Erestor's, but never Estel's.

"Now, of the Two Trees of Valinor, which was the eldest: Telperion or Laurelin?"

Glorfindel strained his ears, but could discern no reply. Still, Erestor seemed to have heard one, for he spoke again, "Very good. And the last remaining flower from this tree following its destruction became what?"

_Ithil,_ Glorfindel mentally answered, then smiled when Erestor confirmed his correctness.

"And the last fruit of Laurelin became...?"

_Anor._

"Excellent. Come now, take your sugar cube."

Glorfindel blinked.

Sugar cube? Erestor was rewarding Estel with sugar? _Estel_? And yet the library appeared to be in one - slightly vandalised - piece. This could not be good.

Just then, a sort of groaning, splintering sound intruded upon Glorfindel's thoughts. Alarmed, he twisted around to stare incredulously at the suddenly very offended branch that held him. O no.

_That_ could not be good, either.

Though Glorfindel had questioned the integrity of Thoronil's mind, he suddenly found himself thankful for the other Elf's skittish retreat. There were certain things - things like falling with distinctly un-Elven gracelessness to land flat on one's back - that could do without public knowledge. It would not do for his reputation to be tarnished by such...spasticity. That, and the grunt he had heaved upon impact with the ground was hardly becoming of one many, many centuries old and renowned for his cat-like prowess. Had Thoronil stayed, the guard would have probably suggested he stick buttered bread on his feet when next he planned on hanging from weak tree limbs, for "cats always land on their feet, and bread always falls butter-down; so if one has the good fortune to possess the gracefulness of a cat, but is still at times uncertain that they will indeed land on their feet, a little buttered bread to one's soles should help matters greatly."

Then again, by this course of logic Glorfindel could have easily flown with a little buttered bread worn atop his hair like a crown, had his usual grace not faltered. The repelling forces would have confused the nature of...well, nature, and in theory he could hover happily in the air until he saw fit to remove his crusted cap.

...he would have to give it a try sometime. Sometime when he was very, very much alone.

Tearing his thoughts away from butter and returning them to sugar, Glorfindel hefted himself up off of the stone-paved walk and brushed the dirt from his rear. Stealth was accomplishing nothing more than bruising his...ego; it was time for the direct approach. Though he knew Erestor deeply frowned upon being disturbed whilst he was teaching the Adan child, Glorfindel's curiosity outweighed his courtesy, and with his resolve set securely into place, he started off toward the library.

**

*+*+*

**

"And it was the healing tears of Yavanna that helped to bring forth the last flower and fruit of Telperion and Laurelin after they were smote by Melkor and Ungoliant, was it not?" Grey eyes met grey eyes, one pair wise and ancient, the other youthful and crinkled at the corners with a distrusting frown. Erestor waited patiently as Estel thought carefully about his answer, and rolled a sugar cube between his fingers.

Finally, the boy's gaze became resolute, and he blinked firmly twice, and gave his head a ruffled shake.

Erestor smiled. "No? Are you certain?"

Estel breathed a loud huff through his nose, indicating that yes, he was quite sure, and Erestor nodded, pleased. He handed over the sugar cube without further hesitation.

"Good, Estel. It was in fact Nienna's tears which coerced the Two Trees into releasing their final blooms. Now, moving on to--"

"Ai Elbereth!" a horrified voice shouted from the doorway. Erestor turned in his seat, looking perturbed at the interruption.

"No, Glorfindel, our next topic is Aulë. If you cannot follow the lesson then kindly do not make your ignorance known."

Glorfindel ignored the other Elf, and moved somewhat dumbstruck closer to the human sitting on the floor. "Erestor..." he said at last.

Erestor did not so much as glance up from the page he was skimming over in one of three books laid out on the table in front of him. "Hmm?"

"You have...you have _broken_ him?!"

"Hm? Nonsense," Erestor scoffed, casting an eye down at Estel and wrinkling his nose in distaste as the boy made a sudden slurping sound to keep from drooling on the floor. "We are merely incorporating play and schooling, in order to better capture and hold Estel's attention."

"You have Estel himself captured and held like a wild animal!" Glorfindel exclaimed, his arms flying up in the air nigh violently.

"I most certainly do not!" Erestor protested. "Saddled horses are very tame!"

"He has a _bit_ in his _mouth_!"

"Where else would you have had me put it? His--"

"_Ahem_," a soft but very crisp voice cut into their argument, and both advisors whirled around to see a lightly-floured Ilmalin standing near the door, in the same place that Glorfindel had ony just vacated. Balanced on the fingertips of her right hand was a covered silver platter, which she held out to Erestor with a small bow. "Fresh from the oven, my Lord, baked to a light golden-brown, as requested."

"O, excellent!" Erestor thanked her and relieved her of the tray, and Ilmalin smiled warmly at all three males, shook her head slightly at Estel's reined state, then left to return to her breadmaking.

"What, in Eru's name, is _that_?" Glorfindel asked, grimacing at the sour smell eminating from the dish.

"Estel's written lesson for the day."

The flaxen-haired Elf pinched his nose shut as Erestor lifted the lid from the platter and waved away the foul steam that rose from whatever substance resided within.

Cut leafs of parchment sat neatly stacked atop the tray, marked with childish scrawl in some sort of dried brown liquid.

"Ah, yes..." Erestor mumbled to himself with a satisfied nod, grasping the topmost sheet of parchment between his thumb and forefinger and holding it up in front of his face. "Yes, everything appears to be in order..."

"What in Arda did you have him write with?" Glorfindel gawped as he knelt down to untie Estel's reins from the table leg to which they were attached.

"Milk," Erestor answered simply.

"Milk?"

The darker Elf nodded. "As ink was most definitely out of the question, yes, milk."

From the floor, Estel reared up on his knees and gave his best horse whinny as the bit - no longer hindered by the reins - fell from his mouth. "I am a warhorse, Glorfindel!" he announced proudly.

"That is nice, Estel..." Glorfindel absently replied, and glared up at Erestor, who only shrugged.

"He refused my suggestion of a dapple-grey pony."

"I cannot believe you! How could you constrain a child in such a manner?"

"But I am not a child!" Estel interjected. "I am a warhorse, receiving my orders before I am to depart for battle."

Erestor arched an eyebrow at Glorfindel in much the same way as Elrond often did when someone else made his point for him. But Glorfindel would have none of it.

"Come, Estel," he ordered, taking Isildur's heir by the hand and leading him out of the library. "You are finished with your lessons for today."

The Adan child skipped alongside the Elf, and Erestor watched them go with a strange gleam in his eye, waiting until they had reached the threshold before speaking again, "Glorfindel? A morsel of advice?"

Glorfindel glanced back at the other counsellor, still scowling. "What?" he snapped.

"For the good of your health, I believe it is best that I inform you - your warhorse has consumed more than a dozen sugar cubes within the last hour alone."

Glorfindel's eyes barely had time to widen in alarm before a sudden and surprisingly forceful tug on his arm yanked him around the corner of the doorway and into the hall with a startled yelp.

Erestor smiled to himself as he listened to the pitter-patter of a warhorse's hooves running at a gallop down the corridor, and a high-pitched cry of "BATTLE!!" echoed throughout the house.

  


* * *

  
Oy vey. I can't believe it's been nearly a month since last I updated this. Sorry for the wait. My humour muse went on holiday without giving its two weeks' notice, but now it has returned, tanned and with a large collection of little paper umbrellas, so here's hoping the next chapter will be out much faster. ;) Thank you all for reading/reviewing/being patient - I'm giddy that so many are enjoying this! And just in case anyone's wondering, I've thought up somewhat expanded roles for Thoronil and Ilmalin, so there will be more of them in future. I'm growing rather attached to them... :) 


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